


the importance of being idle

by wajjs



Series: Across The Universe (vld fics) [24]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Future Fic, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-06 01:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16378742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: It's been years since the war has ended and Lance just keeps running away.





	the importance of being idle

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as a personal challenge to see if I could hit the 10k word mark, and then it just kind of... developed a life of its own? Unexpectedly?
> 
> Dedicated to Mizu for being the most amazingly supportive friend that helped me whenever I doubted myself during the writing process, and to Suvy for being so inspiring and for cheering me on with her kindness, always making me feel happy.
> 
> This is unbeta'ed, so if you find anything that needs fixing, please let me know!

 

 

**the importance of being idle**

 

 

 There are things that still manage to surprise him after all his years in duty.  Not that he isn’t in duty anymore, no — more like the feeling of something completely unplanned taking him by surprise is a novelty.  His heart flutters beneath his ribs in strange ways, though surely no one will ever notice since his expression doesn’t falter, not even once.

 He offers a smile that won’t let others read too much into it, or so he hopes, knowing the importance of keeping a put together front when having the high ranking that he has.  Yet his nerves are actually singing and his thoughts travel faster than the speed of light. In the past he would’ve laughed at his reaction, but years of not seeing someone if it wasn’t through reports or rare transmissions rightfully bring in a wave of… eagerness? Nostalgia? ...Nervousness.

 Definitely nervousness.

 After all, his once comrade in arms and teammate, maybe even still a friend, has been nothing but a light that continuously gets farther and farther away.  Seeing him in person has become more of a chase than anything else, and he somehow always manages to slip through their fingers just when they are sure they've got a good hold on him.  No one quite knows why this is happening. It’s hard to know what wrong you’ve done if the other person doesn’t ever stop to talk with everyone involved and figure things out.

 That might be why Shiro doesn’t leap out of his ship the moment he arrives at the dock (so far away from Earth) and recognizes his estranged friend from the distance.  His fingers itch on the control panel and he can’t tear his gaze away from the viewport, almost like he’s been hit by a blaster set on ‘stun’.

 What do you say to someone after years of not seeing them in all their moving glory?  Transmissions and video reports will never do him justice. But more importantly, what do you say to someone you didn’t notice you’ve missed so much until you see them again?

 “General,” a member of his crew steps right into his field of vision, surely noticing how disperse he is —and that’s it, isn’t it?  Living in such close quarters for extended periods of time makes Shiro’s crew the best at reading him like an open book. “We’ve finished disembarking, a report was just sent to central.”

 “Good,” he says though he barely registers the movement of his lips, “you’re all free to rest until we receive a reply.”

 Out there, beyond the viewport, the object of his bewilderment is walking away.  Something twists painfully inside him, and then he’s excusing himself, leaping out of the ship and jumping into an ocean of chaos.  After all this time… there’s no way he’s going to let this opportunity end up in smoke.

 His uniform makes it somewhat easier to navigate through the docks packed with people (aliens, including himself) of all kinds.  It’s easy enough to recognize, so the ones who see him coming make room for him to pass through. Besides, he’s fairly sure his almost sprint is enough to alert people around him of his presence.

 But in this sea of colors and bodies, shadows and lights, finding just one singular individual is almost like finding a needle in a haystack.  And if he’s too slow, then…

 “Shiro?” a voice he hasn’t heard in too long says, “Shiro?  _ Is that you? _ ”

 And he turns and the whole universe seems more vibrant, more alive.  All because they are standing face to face again, because those bright eyes are looking at him with equal amounts of disbelief, surprise and happiness, because for the fraction of a second the universe contracted until they were the only to beings inside of it.  The pull of those eyes, of that smile, it’s something that gained intensity with the passage of time.

 “Lance,” he says, the name almost a performative word, reaffirming the other’s existence.

 Years, it’s been years since they saw each other.

 “It’s really you!” Lance laughs and the whole universe sets right back in motion, “I almost didn’t recognize you with that uniform! Did they invent a new charge just for you or they decided that it was time for an update in fashion? Man, you look good!”

 It’s the song and dance of always.  Shiro doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the steps, no matter the events in between.  Not just him; no one in their team will ever forget how the dance goes, he’s sure of that.

 “You too,” he smiles, suppressing the urge to reach out and squeeze one of Lance’s shoulders.  Shiro doesn’t want to scare him away with sudden physical closeness… he doesn’t want to scare him away and with that thought he realizes he doesn’t know  _ what _ will make Lance flee.

 The sudden awareness of uncertainty sweeps off the solid ground from under his feet and Shiro finds himself at the mercy of unknown waters, and he can only think: may he reach is destiny.  May he return home whole.

 “What are you doing here, Shiro?” there’s the hint of something sharp in Lance’s smile, a flash of a predator lurking, a sparkle of something irrefutably and dangerously alive, “This backwater planet isn’t usually you guys’ route.”

 Shiro swallows and cautiously files away the cutting lines that he didn’t remember being there, in Lance’s whole demeanour.  Years, he reminds himself, opening and closing his flesh hand once as he puts himself right back on his own axis, years can change anyone.  The thought brings him back on firmer ground, though there’s something fundamental in the structure that’s still frail, shaking, and he has to remind himself that he’s a general, god damn it, he’s no longer the young man he used to be, that man struggling to come to terms with being in charge, with having to endure the vastness of space with four more-or-less prepared individuals.  There’s no more fumbling, or there shouldn’t be, probably — he has a front to keep, like always, there are things he’ll never outrun, yet here he is, his foundations coming apart in tender cracks the longer he stands in front of the other’s radiance.

 It feels like eons have gone by, but that’s the thing with time: sometimes you grasp it and you feel like you’ve understood it’s running, most times it just tosses you whichever way it desires.  It feels like eons have gone by without him replying, but Shiro’s fairly sure it’s only been a couple, just a couple, of seconds.

 “Just like the universe, we have to keep expanding,” he smiles and Lance’s grin is all the more sharper, by the stars, Shiro’s afraid someone will cut themselves on those edges… if not someone, maybe Lance himself.

 “The Garrison hasn’t changed one bit from when I was still there,” the way he moves his body is with such ease, a soft transition of movement that ripples seamlessly through his muscles, his limbs, and Lance shouldn’t look so well put together with his hands in his pants’ pockets, jacket mostly unbuttoned, a white shirt showing from underneath the lapels.  “Well,” he drawls with a familiar uptick in one of the corners of his lips, “aside from the step forwards in regards to fashion.”

 The appraising gaze doesn’t go unnoticed, and Lance isn’t even trying to make it a subtle once.  If he were anyone else, Shiro’s sure he would be blushing, but fighting down bashfulness and stuffing it into a neat cage is easy enough, almost like an automatized thought process.  He chuckles instead, easing his posture just a little now that he’s fairly sure the other isn’t going to run away the moment Shiro lets his guard down just a smidge.

 “I admit, the previous uniforms were hideous.  These are much nicer.”

 “Oh, definitely,” and Lance actually takes a step closer, and it shouldn’t shock Shiro but it does, realizing that this is a closeness he hadn’t experienced with the other in a long, long time, “and—

 There’s a string of long-winded curses followed by shouting and the distinct sound of a fight erupting somewhere in a ship behind them.  Like a mirror, the ease in Lance’s posture shatters. It’s all in a rapid succession of moments Shiro’s sure he’ll have a hard time forgetting, how pale Lance got, how his thin lips nearly disappeared as he pressed them together in a tight line; the tension of his muscles, of his expression, the way his eyes were no longer bright, almost like their flame had just been snuffed by shadows.  Like the previous man is no longer, and a new one appeared as replacement in just a matter of seconds.

 “I have to go,” is all that Lance says then, and Shiro can only nod in odd numbness as he lets the other slip away into the crowd.

 It’s immediate, then, how the air feels stale, how he notices now the difference in the gravitational pull, how he’s heavier, almost like his very organs, bones and blood are pushing him down to the dirty floor of the docks.  And the colors are neither vibrant nor alive, rather they are too much, encompassing everything and leaving nothing out of their reach, assaulting his senses in ways that are sure to bring him a headache. And the crowd brings a sense of loneliness, of being one in a sea of a stars that look down on him impassively — and that’s just, that’s just stupid, isn’t it?  No one’s looking down on him. No one has looked down on him in a very long, long time.

 But it’s like with Lance’s departure the universe has gone back to what it was before they met in that small bubble of eternity, now everything is back to its same rhythm, the hinges of existence are no longer off.  Shiro’s sure, without room for doubt, that this is all because of Lance’s pull, the one that brings forth such dissonance from a before and after, Lance’s pull that has grown stronger and more intense with the passage of time, Lance with his new razor sharp grins and ease of movements, with a life on his back, with history resting on his shoulders and despite the weight he never stumbles.

 Shiro takes a deep breath then, looking off into the general direction of where the other disappeared into.  He hopes he gets to see Lance again. Maybe he can convince him to visit the others, to come back more often, to stop running everywhere and anywhere and rest his feet and his head every once in a while.  Maybe he can convince him to stick around once more, and then they will all have a chance to work things out.

 That’s a lot to be put on fate and chance, though, so Shiro’s not all too hopeful.

 

 The walk back to his own ship is uneventful.  He goes straight to his quarters and locks the door before taking off his jacket, draping it over the back of the chair at his desk.  A quick glance at the transmissor lets him see that in the time he was away he hasn’t received any kind of communication, and he thinks, rethinks and discards the idea of calling Allura to tell her who he found after the long period of not knowing anything.  What will he tell her, anyway? He didn’t even have a meaningful talk with Lance, and it didn’t last more than just a handful of minutes. It wasn’t even a private conversation, or about anything in particular, it was just at the docks, in the middle of a myriads of aliens.

 He doesn’t even know why Lance is here, and his own answer when inquired about his presence in the region was textbook dismissal.  It makes something hurt in his chest, and Shiro sits on the border of his bed, contemplating the opposite wall. When did all of them misstep that they are now like this?  It’s impossible not to remember what once was, the relationships they all once had with each other, without feeling like something important was lost along the way. They all once used to be closer, much closer than what they are now… it’s telling that something’s wrong with their bonds when the one who used to fit snugly in the center of everything is now the missing one from their reunions, the one they can never get a hold of.

 Even Keith shows up more often, and he’s the head of an intergalactical spy organization now.  Whatever is keeping Lance away and on the move, it must be abysmally important. It drives him a little crazy that he doesn’t know  _ what  _ that thing is.

 His communicator beeps then, startling him out of his thoughts, and he walks back towards the desk, picking it up.  The brief hope that the caller would be Allura is shoved aside by the display clearly stating that it’s an unknown transmission, and instead alarm bells ring in his head: this is his  _ personal _ communicator, and only very few individuals knew the signal they had to use to talk.  Shiro stares at the holographic screen for a moment then, and hope is an unfathomable beast he’ll never manage to control, because in a matter of seconds it rears its ugly head to bite at his ankles and curl around his knees.

 After a blink, he presses the command to accept the call.

 “Heeeey, you did pick up!” the voice is cheerful and more than enough to have him reach out to the back of the chair and squeeze it in order to reassure himself that this is really happening.

 “Lance?” the frown is unavoidable, really, because even though he is glad that he hasn’t entirely blown his chance at getting closer to the other again, he’s still miffed that Lance managed to find his private signal and sent a request for communication bypassing all security measures.  “How did you—”

 “Ah, well, you see, that’s a funny story,” Lance laughs and even though they are not face to face, the room seems brighter already, “one I could maybe tell you at dinner.”

 “Dinner?”

 “Yes, big man, dinner, you know,” stretching his arms behind his head, Lance then leans back into the chair Shiro’s now noticing he’s sitting on, “that meal humans and many other aliens eat some time before hitting the sack and all that.  Wanna go eat some native dishes with me in about, say, an hour?”

 Shiro’s mouth is suddenly dry.  “An hour,” he repeats, frown easing into one arched eyebrow.  “That’s…”

 “More than enough time for you to get all ready,” Lance’s grin is challenging, and Shiro is flooded with the urge to erase that unspoken challenge and use it to wipe the floor, stars know why.  “Or the age made you slower?”

 “Are you calling me old, Lance?” he’s aware of the way his mouth curves into a teasing smirk, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he rolls his shoulders backwards, knowing that the pose makes him seem larger.  “Is this how you ask people out for dinner now?”

 “Dunno, maybe,” Lance grins, winking, “is it working?”

 “An hour,” Shiro says in lieu of a reply.  He thinks of his role as a general, his obligations, and remembers that central hasn’t sent in a reply yet, which they are probably going to receive during what passes as morning in this planet.  He thinks of missed opportunities in the past, and that finally settles it. “I’ll meet you in the same docking bay of today.”

 “Awesome,” Lance leans closer and now his face takes a lot of space in the screen.  He looks almost like he did time ago, when they were all younger, and it makes Shiro wonder how he maintains such a flawless skin. “See you in an hour then,  _ general _ .”

 The communication cuts off immediately after that, not leaving a second more for any further exchange.  It does raise suspicion, considering he somehow managed to contact him directly and the length of the conversation… No, he’s not going to ponder about this further, there’s no need to overthink everything and ruin things before they even start.  That’s what this is, a thing, a chance at setting his wrongs right, if there are any wrongs to be righted. In the wild chase of pinning Lance down to a location and contacting him, they’ve all had their time to look back at their own actions to try and find what set their lives to take the turns they went through.  This is… this is the first actual opportunity in a long time to figure out what’s going on with Lance, without having to rely on what his family tells them or the scarce reports he sends every now and then as proof of life.

 It just  _ doesn’t make sense _ , it doesn’t fit Lance’s character, or the character they thought they knew.  Something happened, that much is clear, yet try as they might they always stumble into meaningless answers.

 Shiro remembers his last meeting with Keith, how Keith had mentioned that now he was actually looking up on whatever it is that Lance is doing, because ex teammates or not, there are things about Lance’s behaviour that are indeed suspicious.  They all want to believe the best, but —  _ but nothing _ , Hunk would say if he was there and somehow managed to read Shiro’s mind.   _ But nothing _ ,  _ Lance is our  _ friend _ and as a  _ friend _ we shouldn’t be thinking of him as a dangerous criminal or a suspicious, crooked ally. _  And Katie would agree, Allura would, too, even Coran.  Despite everything they all keep going through, hope is something that is just not easy to shake off and lose, and damn if Shiro knows that all too well.

 Still… no one can blame him for being cautious.  At most, Lance is a wild fire that’s barely contained, and Shiro isn’t keen on burning himself without fully analyzing every other option that avoids said burning.  He picks up his communicator again, heart thrumming in an odd rhythm inside his chest, and his fingers feel like they are lead as he presses in the code to call Keith directly.  An hour is plenty of time, Lance was right about that.

 His lips curl into a soft smile when the call goes through and he’s gazing at that familiar face.  Their greeting is warm, and Shiro is actually reluctant to bring forth hints of iciness to the conversation.  He’s being prudent, he tells himself. He’s only being careful. After all he’s been through, what else would anyone who knows him expect of him?

 

—

 

 He has enough minutes left to make it to the meeting point when he steps out of his room, head filled with thoughts that take over all his mental space.  He’s still not sure if he made the right call when he told Keith that he could handle things just fine, that his presence wasn’t needed. Logic tells him that this is the best option, that if anyone else shows up then Lance is surely to flee instead of sticking around, and then contacting him again would be extremely difficult.  Shiro also knows that Keith and Lance aren’t exactly on the best of terms — the last time they saw each other, years back, they had a very nasty fight, one which Shiro still doesn’t know the entire details of. Keith gets very jittery whenever that moment is brought up, and then he’s snapping at everyone over anything and everything for the rest of the day.

 Some things are better left alone, he guesses.

 Adjusting the cuffs on the sleeves of his jacket, he smiles and nods at James, who’s sitting nearby the main exit, thoroughly cleaning his weapon.  It’s because he’s here that Shiro feels comfortable leaving the ship for what he assumes is going to be an extended period of time, especially in a dock they’ve never been to before.  He trusts in James and in his judgement, and Shiro knows he’ll make the right call if something should ever happen while Shiro’s not around.

 Even if he could be in charge of his own ship, Shiro’s really glad James continues to stay by his side.

 “I’ll be away for most of the evening,” he says, even though he’s aware it’s not necessary because James will never ask and he’ll somehow still know things, “I’m taking my communicator with me, though, so let me know if anything happens that requires my presence.”

 A beat of silence encompasses them, and then James sets his weapon aside, looking up from where he’s sitting to meet Shiro’s gaze.  “The person on the dock from earlier today, when we got here. That was Lance, wasn’t it?”

 There’s no point denying that.  “Yes,” he says, fiddling with the cuffs again.

 “Do you want me to go with you, sir?  Or Kinkade, perhaps?”

 Shiro wants to shake off the implications of that.  The implications of the need of further security, the need to assure his safety.  He remembers what he imagined Hunk saying, in his rich voice,  _ Lance is our friend _ .  It’s easy to complete the sentence:  _ one shouldn’t need protection from friends.  One should be able to trust their friends. _

 Keith’s voice in his head is sharp and his intonation goes straight to the point:  _ can you still call your friend someone who’s been avoiding you for years? _

 He lets his arms hang by his sides, his pose far from natural, yet still firm and sure.  “There’s no need,” stepping closer to the doors, he lingers there for a moment, thinking of all the things he could say.  James’ gaze is burning on his back. “Make sure to rest. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

 He presses his palm to the security scanner and the doors slide open.  Outside, the planet’s sky is turning into a striking variety of colors, dark green, grey and brown.  It’s apparent that everything here has been engineered in a way that the natural light coming from the near stars is the main source of illumination, their gleam reminding him of old paintings with swirling patterns and vivid brushstrokes.  It’s when he’s confronted with sights like this one that he thinks of Earth and misses his home… he knows not many will understand his way of feeling, but the differences only make him all the more nostalgic.

 Walking down the ramp, he appreciates now his surroundings, unlike before when he had run in such a haste, in the middle of a large crowd, trying to find the one person he never expected to see.  There’s no wind running through, and the atmosphere feels hot and sticky, reminding him of humid countries he’s been to when he visited different bases of the Garrison back on Earth. Yet the difference in the air is clear, and breathing feels like he’s high up in the peak of a mountain instead of on ground level, or like those days of unwavering heat before a shattering storm breaks out to bless the ground with its rain.

 There are few aliens just like him milling about, some with odd clouds of smoke around their heads, some with gleaming eyes that follow him as he passes nearby.  He walks at a calm pace, taking in everything with the same old wonder he had when he first became obsessed with constellations, nebulas and galaxies that were always so far away.  It’s possible that this wonder will never leave him, and he smiles, because torture, violence, death and war weren’t enough to make him any less excited to learn more of what’s out there.  If those things couldn’t plant the seeds of fear and cynicism in his heart, then he’s sure that nothing else will be able to.

 “Right on time,” Lance says from where he’s leaning against heavy looking crates, hands in the pockets of his pants.  “Of course you’re not even a minute late.”

 Shiro feels a thrill then, thrumming through his veins and tingling in his guts.  “You did challenge my speed,” a slow smile curls the corners of his lips, and he shrugs, “being late would’ve only confirmed your accusations.”

 He takes in the sight of Lance’s exposed throat as he throws his head backwards, laughing freely, untamed.  When their gazes find each other again, there’s an undeniable spark, a hint of something that Shiro can’t quite understand, and it awakens a sense of longing within himself.  He’s not stunned by it; he isn’t blind, after all, and Lance has always been easy on the eyes. Perhaps even more so now that he’s grown so well into his body and skin, irises flaming and wicked in their effervescence of life, like two blue flames constantly moving.

 Once he used to think of Lance’s eyes as the ocean.

 “Never once doubted you would make it,” stepping away from the crates, he slips his hands out of his pockets and straightens his jacket, though doesn’t bother buttoning it all the way.  “Come on, I know just the place to taste the fine cuisine of this godforsaken place.”

 “Does god even apply to the native beliefs here?” they easily fall into a steady, calm pace.  Shiro tries not to think of how much he’s missed this proximity.

 “Nah, I don’t think it does,” Lance hums, looking straight ahead and never at Shiro, “at least, not the notion of god we are working with right now.”

 “It sounds like you’ve been here before.”

 “Once or twice,” he admits with a shrug, though the reply is indeed vague.  “People are nice here. They don’t ask lots of questions.”

 Well, it’s good that Lance isn’t looking at him, because otherwise he would’ve seen the frown in his expression and the harsh line of his lips.  Why would it matter the lack of questioning from people living in this planet? Why would that be something Lance clearly considers as important?

 But he can’t ask.  He can’t voice any of his doubts and inquiries because that would be ruining everything.  Cornering someone prone to running away at the first glimpse of tense situations is never the right course of action.  Shiro sighs, willing his muscles and posture to remain as open and calm as possible, even while he’s rapidly going over what Keith told him.  Erratic behaviour, suspicious connections, a handful of encounters with local security forces, his constant on the move state that makes him so hard to pin down.  Besides, no one’s quite sure who’s part of the ship’s crew and who isn’t. There are rumours that he’s even taken in some mercenaries and criminals. Those aren’t confirmed facts, sure, but if he takes into consideration what happened earlier when they first met and now this comment…

 “I can hear you overthinking it, you know,” Lance’s voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and Shiro fails to hide a grimace.  “I won’t judge if you go back now. It’s clear that you don’t exactly trust me.”

 “It’s not—,” he shuts his mouth with just one quick harsh glare from the other.  Right. Denying the obvious will get them nowhere. “It’s been years, Lance. We’ve all changed a lot.”

 “That we have,” Lance concedes, though he’s stiff and the shine of his gaze is gone.  When he smiles, it’s not carefree, and it never reaches his eyes. “Though you’re still as hot as always.”

 Deflection.  Shiro sighs again.  “Constant training helps me stay in shape,” he lets it pass momentarily, he’s not here to pick up fights or scare Lance away, “you also look fine, you know.”

 Lance snorts then, shaking his head and lifting a bandaged hand to rub at the back of his neck.  “That all you got?,” he continues walking, picking up the speed a bit, as if he’s suddenly anxious to reach their destination, “I’m not that easily wooed, Shiro, you’re gonna need to step up your game.”

 “Forgive me,” he chuckles, though worry is weighing him down at the sight of the bandages—had they been there before? “I don’t exactly have a ‘game’ to speak of.”

 “I mean, with your looks, you don’t have a lot to worry about.  I think pretty much anyone will say yes to you.”

 Shiro promptly squashes down the  _ ‘will you?’ _ threatening to crawl past his lips.

 They continue walking in silence then, passing through streets that go up in altitude and then down, similar to hills.  As they go further and further into the port town, the streets depend less and less on natural light and more on fluorescent brightly colored bulbs of odd shapes that are floating at a generous distance from the floor.  Some are near the buildings, some spin in slow circles, forming lazy shapes that stretch out with the shadows. The air is clearer, rich with the scent of strange perfumes and what reminds him of smoked fish. There are also more people around here, all with their odd clothes and sparkling jewelry, and as Shiro falls back a little, marveling at the sight of everything together, he vaguely notices that Lance somehow (miraculously) fits in.  It’s something in the way he walks, the way he moves, that pulls Shiro in, that lures him closer to the blue flame; it’s that something that makes it seem like this is the place Lance should be in.

_ Once or twice _ , he had said.  Pushing past the sudden patchiness of his throat, Shiro realizes that Lance must have downplayed the times he’s been here.  Perhaps this is one of his safe havens?

 Slow, bass-heavy music comes from inside a strangely shaped building, much shorter in height that the ones next to it, but with a broader front.  Lance stops by the entrance, the inside room of the place partially hidden behind a multicolored beaded curtain. That item is such a thing from Earth, that Shiro’s stricken by it once he sees it.

 “Is this the place?” he asks because he feels like he needs to say something, anything.  Lance has a strange and uncanny forlorn twist to his expression.

 “Yeah,” is all Shiro gets as a reply before Lance is already stepping inside, not looking back to see if the other would follow.  It’s not that he needs to, he surely knows that tonight Shiro would go with him anywhere, if only to get just one answer to his many questions.

 The building is certainly spacious.  The floor is tilted downwards following the descent of the terrain, but for commodity (and surely with the intention of making it easier to eat and drink there) the space has been divided into large steps that follow the natural orientation of the terrain.  On each step there are two or three tables, and similar floating lights like the ones from the street illuminate the room with a softer glow.

 On the step that’s on a higher level there’s a band playing strange instruments, and each member seems to be from a different species.  Shiro’s only partially surprised when noticing that the one who’s busy playing an air instrument that vaguely resembles a saxophone is clearly galra.  The war has been long finished,  _ that _ war at least, and since then galras have had years to reinsert themselves in intergalactic relations that don’t involve violence.  The fear they once striked that was answered with subsequent hatred, all of that has slowly been pushed aside with the newer generations.

 Lance is suddenly by his side, smiling while looking impossibly ethereal with the dim glow of the lights.  He’s holding Shiro’s hand and tugging on it, guiding him through the tables and down the steps until they stop when they are far from the entrance and the band, closest to what can only be the kitchen.  The scent of smoked fish is richer here, and Shiro’s appetite is definitely interested in what they have to offer.

 The tables here are still empty, so they settle into the one by the wall.  Shiro is once again shaken by the feeling that this is a place Lance belongs to.

 “This is nice,” he comments, still taking in everything there’s to see, “the ambiance is nice.”

 “You really thought I was gonna take you to a seedy place, didn’t you?” Lance huffs, resting an elbow on the table and propping his chin in his hand.  “Nah. Only the best for you.”

 The affirmation is straightforward enough that Shiro doesn't fight back his impending blush, and he knows Lance notices it.  “I’m flattered,” he says, letting himself meet Lance’s eyes again, “thank you.”

 “Don’t thank me yet, you don’t even know if you’re gonna like the food.”

 “I’ve been subjected to enough weird dishes to be able to stomach things I wouldn’t have eaten in the past, you know.”

 “Have you now?” Lance practically purrs, leaning even closer, and that’s when a large alien, with three muscular arms on each side, steps out of the kitchen and rushes to their table.

 “Partner!” they exclaim, seemingly jubilant, in a dialect easily translated by the devices both Shiro and Lance have implanted right behind their ears, “You didn’t tell us you were stopping by!”

 “Lukyan, buddy, didn’t know you were here—” standing up quickly, Lance lets out an ‘oof’ as he’s picked up in a hug that surely must hurt, with all those six arms squeezing him like they mean it.

 “‘s been six years since we saw you! Eldin’s gonna be so excited to see you again—”

 “Lu-Lukyan, I— _ air _ .”

 Shiro barely hides his wince as the large alien sets Lance back down on the floor, releasing him from the muscled prison.  They don’t fully move away, though, instead just resting two hands on Lance’s broad shoulders and other two around Lance’s sides.  What sets him off, though, is the way Lance tenses when that happens, head angled to the side and towards the shadows.

 It’s bad that he doesn’t even know what he should do.

 “Let go,” Lance grunts, unmoving, “can’t you see  _ I’m with someone _ ?”

 Lukyan’s eyes now fixate on Shiro, and he almost doesn’t manage to fight back the shivers licking his spine.  It’s not that the eyes looking at him now have dark sclera and bright golden irises, no, it’s the way they are looking at him, sizing him up with a powerful glare.  But they do move their hands away, even taking a step backwards, and for some reason Shiro remembers the bandages covering Lance’s hand and his chest feels like it’s constricting.

 He stands then, not liking how small the huge figure of Lukyan makes him feel.

 “General Shirogane,” he introduces himself, his gaze turning sharper.  His heart beats almost painfully to the rhythm of the bass sounds, and he can feel the attention of all the other patrons being directed towards them.

 Lance only grows tenser.  Lukyan’s mouth curls into what can only be a vicious smirk.

 “General, ey?” they laugh and clap their first set of hands once, “Nice meeting you.  I’m Lukyan, an old friend of little ol’ Lance here. Don’t have a fancy title to show off.”

 “ _ Lukyan _ ,” Lance’s voice holds the finality of a warning, “¿ _ etsiniv ednòd ed sèvlov on rojem èuq rop _ ”

 The failed translation of the device has Shiro staring, dumbfounded, as his mind runs a mile a minute.  For the device to be unable to even propose a tentative, vague translation, well, the dialect has to be extremely rare or… the dialect isn’t a dialect, rather a code.  He isn’t sure if he wants to stop and consider the implications of that.

 “ _ oticnal, osoivren nat erpmeis, _ ” Lukyan laughs, ruffling Lance’s hair in a way that should pass off as friendly but is somehow hostile, “alright, alright. Can tell I’m not wanted,” they glance at Shiro once more, offering a grin sharp with fangs, before turning around and walking back to the kitchen.  “Remember to visit Eldin before leaving. Don’t want to make him upset.”

 The band on the other end of the salon keeps playing, transitioning smoothly from song to song — or perhaps it’s the same song that never ended, and is just formed by different variant parts of sound.  From culture to culture, the understanding of music always shifts, and it’s something Shiro wishes he had time to study.

 Lance stands still looking at the shadows, and he’s eons away from returning to his relaxed posture.

 “I’m sorry about that,” he says, and it almost feels like saying those words causes him physical pain, “I didn’t… didn’t think that guy would be working here.  Should’ve checked beforehand.”

 It’s instinctual, the force that makes Shiro reach out and barely brush the back of Lance’s hand with his fingertips.  “It’s alright. We can go elsewhere if you wish. To your ship, maybe?”

 “Hah,” letting out a snort, Lance finally faces him once more, the ghost of a smile playing on his lips, “eager, aren’t you?  Nah, let’s stay here. I still want you to try the food. I’m only half sure you won’t gag.”

 Shiro accepts the words for what they are: distraction.  “Only half sure?”

 “I remember that time you ate in just three bites that awful thing Coran made,” taking his seat back on the table, Lance drums his fingertips on the hard surface, “that squirmy orange porridge stuff.  Don’t think I’ll ever forget that…”

 “Oh, come on,” the laughter is honest and a blessing that finally chases away the tension from moments before; to anyone else, the change would’ve been confusing, but Shiro’s used to it, “it wasn’t half as bad.  It tasted like sushi!”

 “Yeah, no,” exaggerating a shudder, Lance then leans into the chair, pressing a glowing button near the edge of the table that Shiro’s just now noticing, “it was  _ awful _ .  Just admit you have crappy taste, or a strong gut, whatever, but don’t imply that concoction was anywhere near good. And I’ve eaten  _ alien bugs _ .”

 “You what?” Shiro laughs more, leaning back into his seat as well and watching Lance with appraising eyes, the warmth of mirth a welcomed feeling in his body.  “You can’t say Coran’s food is bad when you— _ bugs _ , really?”

 “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!” Lance grins, tapping different symbols into the small holographic screen that popped up after pressing the button, “It was a desperate moment, alright?  We had an old ship and it ran out of fuel while we were on our way to a port, and so we had to crash land on a sorta inhabitated moon-satellite thing—”

 “Don’t you mean inhabited?”

 “Whatever,” he presses one final symbol before the screen disappears in a display of shiny gradient colored pixels, “anyways, yeah, we were there and the ship had a way of naturally recharging, sure, but it was taking  _ ages _ and we were already running low on food resources to begin with…”

 “Oh god,” Shiro winces out of sympathy, “but how—how did you guys even think of eating the  _ bugs _ ?”

 “Well, turns out there was a small group of aliens living there, and, well, upon observation we noticed them eating the funny looking crunchy critters.  We bon appetite’d them. Matt was only mildly worried about them being of any nutritional value to us, but well, we didn’t have other options and—”

 “Wait,” Shiro leans forward this time, almost throwing himself over the table, because… “Matt? You mean,  _ Matt Holt _ was there, with you?”

 “Uh.  Yeah? He didn’t tell you?”

 The question is unnecessary, really, since it’s clear that Matt in fact didn’t.  “No,” he replies anyways, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I don’t even think Katie knows Matt stays in touch with you.  If she had, she would’ve definitely nagged him endlessly until she had a way of contacting you.”

 Lance’s face twists into a pained grimace.  He breathes out in a low hiss, white teeth digging into his bottom lip as he lowers his gaze, staring at the floor.

 “Yeah, uh, about that.  I’ll contact her soon. I know I haven’t—haven’t been the best at… I mean, it’s not like it’s  _ easy _ ,” he huffs then, lifting his bandaged hand and running his fingers through his hair, pushing it backwards.  “I think Matt understood that and so he decided it was best if it happened at my own pace. He’s cool like that, always knows what everybody needs.”

 Shiro frowns, resting his forearm on the table and breathing in deeply to calm himself down.  This is, this is so much information in such little time, even in what Lance  _ isn’t _ saying there are truths that feel like lead around his ankles and on top of his shoulders.  What he knows for sure now, though, is that he needs to… they all need to talk to Matt. Not immediately after this dinner, definitely not, because then Shiro’s sure he’s going to yell and say things he doesn’t mean just because he’s  _ upset _ .  Besides, he kind of understands the way Matt acted, not telling them that he’s seen Lance, knows what he’s kind of up to, because if he had… well.  Shiro’s sure they all would’ve leapt at the chance the knowledge brought them, which would’ve ended in them invading Lance’s space and privacy.

 Yes, he is a little mad at Matt, but that doesn’t stop him from understanding that what he did was necessary.

 “Is because of him that you knew my private signal?” he asks instead, and Lance’s expression closes off for a moment.

 “He shared with me all of your signals, in case I—,” he licks his lips, swallows, and then starts playing with the cuffs of his sleeves, “well, in case I needed help again.  He saved my ass by sheer coincidence, and then got mad that the only reason I didn’t ask for backup or help was because I didn’t have a way of contacting any of you.”

 “What happened?”

 “Nu-huh,” Lance shakes his head then, a perfect smile forming on his lips when he notices a waiter (definitely not Lukyan) approaching their table with a tray full of plates and two normal-looking glasses, “enough info-digging.  Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

 Shiro straightens his back, chagrined, “I wasn’t—”

 “ _ Look _ ,” Lance is still smiling, though clearly just for show, as he lowers his voice so that no one else but Shiro could hear, “ _ leave it.  If you really want to know, ask Matt. _  I  _ know  _ you’ll call him as soon as you get back.”

 They stay in silence then, as the plates and glasses are lowered onto their table, even as the waiter leaves without saying a word either.  Lance proceeds to grab both of the glasses to lift them up, inspecting them against the dim light of the floating bulbs, so Shiro lets him. He still doesn’t know what to say after all that, and interrupting the other right now means talking again.  He needs a moment to gather his thoughts.

 Apparently unsatisfied with whatever he saw (or didn’t see) when holding up the glasses, he sets them down on the table again and searches for something inside the front pocket of his jacket.  Shiro’s frown deepens when Lance takes out what at first sight is a flat rock, shaped almost like an old guitar pick, and then presses down on the longer part until it emits an eerie green light, similar to a flashlight.  Holding the light next to the base of the glasses, he peers into them from above, all his attention on the semi-translucent red liquid there. But all there’s to see is that there’s nothing floating there that shouldn’t, or that it doesn’t seem to be.  Lance is clearly frustrated by this.

 “Is everything ok?” Shiro asks, leaning closer so he, too, can look at the content of the glasses.

 “Seems like it,” Lance picks up one, lifts it up again and brings the base close to his eye.  He sneers then, setting it back on the table but keeping it close to himself. “Seems like it...  Anyways, enough about me. Tell me what you’re doing here.”

 “Now who’s digging for information?” he hums, offering a small smile, “And I told you what I’m doing here, the Garrison is expanding, so I’m here to make sure things go well.”

 “Ah,” nodding, he starts rearranging the plates in whatever order he wants Shiro to taste, “got it.  Sounds like a long assignment.”

 “At least four months, yes,” telling Lance as much is something he can do.  He idly starts poking the food on the plate closest to him with what looks like this planet’s version of a fork, reassured that it’s not moving.  He still isn’t keen on eating half-alive dishes. “And you? How long are you staying?”

 With the not-really-a-fork he separates a small bite and then brings it to his mouth.  As he chews on it thoughtfully, Lance simply stares, and Shiro isn’t sure if he’s waiting for a funny reaction or if the other is thinking of what answer to give.

 “You’re assuming I have plans of staying,” Lance settles on, draping one arm over the back of his chair as he too picks up the utensil and takes a bite of a different plate, with something that looks like fluorescent jello with shrimps inside, “which I don’t.”

 Shiro tries not to be disheartened by the reply, but he fails.  Ah, hope, always making his expectations come down in ugly crashes.  It’s only slightly painful.

 “So you’re leaving tonight?”

 “That’s the idea,” he nods, taking another bite, not quite meeting Shiro’s eyes.  “Besides, this is not really a place I want to be stuck in when the space storms hit.”

 Putting down his fork, he picks up the glass and takes a small sip of the liquid.  It tastes like water, with hints of mint. “What do you mean?”

 “Well, I’m sure you know already, since the Garrison probably gave you a detailed folder with data about this region and planet and all that jazz… So, uh, this zone every few circles goes through a period in which its prone to be exposed to space storms, and from a distance it looks cool and all, but once the space storm season starts, everyone’s stuck in orbit.  No one can get out and travel to the nearest satellites or planets, and the ones stuck in one place or the other, well. You’ll see.”

 “So you’ve been stuck here before,” Shiro says, not bothering to frame it as a question when the answer is so clearly obvious.

 “How else you think I came in contact with Lukyan?” he laughs then, a short and clipped sound.  “Though that was also how I got more people to join my crew. There’s always a silver lining…”

 

—

 

 By the end of the dinner, Shiro notices Lance hasn’t touched his glass at all, but he thinks it’s better if he doesn’t bring that up.

 After paying for everything, they step back into the streets that are now even more populated than before.  There’s music playing outside the buildings, with differents kinds of aliens dancing in the ways they like, and for a moment Shiro’s transported back to carnivals and festivals he went to when he was little, the joy and the multitude of colors things that always gave him never ending bursts of energy until he reached home and crashed on his parents’ bed.

 Lance turns to him as they are going down the street and grins, bright and full of life, before taking one of Shiro’s hands in his own and spinning while pretending Shiro is actually the one guiding the movement.  They both laugh then, sharing the same rhythm, living the same moment, and Shiro pulls Lance closer until they are face to face, mere centimeters apart.

 He’s never been the greatest of dancers, but that doesn’t stop him from moving his free hand to Lance’s side, just below his ribcage, to start swaying while following the ups and downs of the music and the beat of the strong percussions.  And Lance, gods, Shiro’s sure he’ll never forget the look on Lance’s face or the magic of those electric blue eyes that recharge his soul with each gaze. For a moment, Shiro forgets completely about the music and he can only hear Lance’s laughter, the only song he needs to keep dancing, to keep moving.

 Why hadn’t they done this before? Why did they wait for so long?

 Why did they wait until wrinkles became more obvious, just as they begin to lose the spring in their steps?

 Lance breaks apart without letting go of his hand and starts guiding him away from the crowd, back to the less colorful path to the docks.  Shiro stops with his thoughts that are stuck in a replay of  _ I don’t want this night to end _ .  Because if the night ends then that means Lance will leave.  And if Lance leaves then they won’t have another chance like this again.  And Shiro’s done having his chances cut short, he’s done giving up whatever good manages to come his way.

 He’s done grieving.  He’s been mourning for much too long, and he  _ yearns _ … he yearns with such an intensity that it feels like it’s crushing him from the inside out.

 “Shiro,” Lance sighs, stopping just ahead of him, half turned towards the docks.  Ready to flee. “Shiro, I had a great time tonight.”

 “Lance,” he says in a whisper, letting go of the other’s hand when Lance pulls it back, even though it makes him feel cold, “you could… you could stay a bit more.”

 “We aren’t young anymore, Shiro,” he twitches, stuffing both hands back into the pockets of his pants.

 “Why should we care about youth?” he asks, but he’s not willing to beg.  “We are who we are now. I don't expect you to be like you once were.”

 “You aren't even sure who I am now,” Lance snaps then, trembling, “you said it, years change a person.”

 “You're still Lance,” Shiro says, daring to take a single step closer.  “That's more than enough for me.”

 “Listen—this, whatever this thing is that you suddenly want, it.  It won’t work, alright? You don't fully trust me and you can't be with someone you don't trust.  It's better if I just…”

 He doesn't finish the sentence.  Instead, he turns around completely, his back to Shiro, and walks away at a slow pace, not once looking over his shoulder.  The point was made, wasn’t it? And it's not like it lacked logic, on the contrary, it had been the most logical thing Lance could’ve said.  It still doesn't mean Shiro likes the outcome of tonight, it doesn't mean he's alright with going back to his ship empty-handed while his lips are unbelievably cold.

 And suddenly it's like time’s speeding up and he gets back to the ship before he realizes.  The doors open once the scan recognizes his handprint, and with a single step inside he notices that Ryan has taken James’ place as night guard.  He looks well rested at least, compared to what he had looked like a week and a half ago when he had fallen ill.

 “Did anything of importance happen?” he asks, pretending with ease that his heart doesn’t lay broken inside his chest.  Falling into his role within the crew is a welcomed feeling, one that puts all other thoughts at bay and lets him focus.

 “No, sir,” Ryan remains where he’s leaning against the wall, looking at him with inscrutable eyes.  “How was your evening?”

 It’s not that Shiro isn’t expecting that question, even if he’s monetarily stunned by it.  It’s likely that he’s more startled by the intensity of Ryan’s gaze than anything else, or perhaps he’s been thrown off his center after such an abrupt goodbye.  Stars, it could even be that Ryan dropped the formalities for a single moment, the first time to ever happen, and Shiro feels even more off his hinges because of it.

 Whatever the reason might be, he knows more than well that the other truly cares, and together with James, Nadia and Ina, they all are more than willing to go the extra distance to make sure no one ever wrongs Shiro.  He’s infinitely grateful for that loyalty, even though it can sometimes be overwhelming and he doesn’t always know how to express his thankfulness and the appreciation he feels for them.

 “It was good,” Shiro says then, after a long moment under Ryan’s impassive stare, and he smiles.  “I suppose I don’t need to remind you to rest.”

 Kinkade’s still looking at him, and in the white noise of the silence Shiro misses the loudness of Lance’s laughter, the song qualities of his voice.

 “Goodnight, Lieutenant.  I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

 Still, he doesn’t sleep.  He spends most of what’s left of the night (and this planet definitely has a shorter nighttime than the one back on Earth, so it’s not like there’s much of it left in the first place) going over everything that he knows, from what Keith told him to what he learnt during his dinner with Lance.  And it frustrates him, stars, it frustrates him to no end that he can’t solve this puzzle, the riddle of what happened with all of them, why they are the way they are now, when did things change in ultimate ways that led to this disappointing outcome.

 He knows that Hunk keeps asking himself the same things, he knows that Katie is haunted by this, and that there are things neither Allura or Keith are quite willing to tell, instead keeping to themselves intricate pieces of this ever expanding puzzle, like secrets they are going to carry with them until the very end.  So Shiro has to work with what he has, which is not much but is also so much more than what he had before — and it’s clear, so clear, that Lance’s involved with people who are far, very far from not being suspicious, dangerous even. He wants to look deeper into it, wants to rattle the wasp nest and see what comes out of it, what’s lying hidden in shadows, music and floating lights.

 Yet, he can’t.  He’s here on an official mission, tasked with foreseeing that the construction and development of the first Garrison base in this planet is finalized without a hitch or chaotic problems.  Investigating Lance’s connections here further would only stall him on his duties, and as a General he can’t afford that. Besides, even if he were to proceed with his wants, what would it mean if he won’t have the chance to talk to Lance himself any further?  Lance is leaving tonight. Perhaps has left right after the exact moment he reached his own ship, leaving behind clues that are only dead-ends.

 In the end, Shiro maybe ends up resting on his bed, eyes closed, for no more than half an hour.  He can’t unplug his mind and relax, though he does remain relatively calm thanks to breathing exercises he learnt over the years.  He lets his feelings wash over him, something he can’t ever do when fulfilling his role within the ship and the Garrison system; feelings of inadequateness, of embarrassment too, loneliness, and it makes him want to either laugh or cry, because  _ damn it all _ , Lance is right, they aren’t young anymore.  Far from it, really, and he shouldn’t be experiencing these emotions now that he’s getting closer to half of a century, now that Lance has no lingering traces of youth.

 Fate must be laughing so loudly at their expense right now.  Fate must be on the floor, clutching their stomach, cackling with mirth and something else, something twisting and sharp and mocking, because they had them running in opposite directions, like centripetal forces with the same starting point that kept going to different destinations, and somehow they crossed paths for one blindingly fulfilling moment that left them bleeding, dying like abandoned animals on the street.

 But… but he has a way of contacting Lance, doesn’t he?  He doesn’t—Lance shouldn’t have had the time to discard his communicator and get a new one with a different signal, right?  Unless he has many of those on reserve, then…

 Shiro practically leaps out of the bed, getting to the desk in one swift movement and holding onto his own communicator like it’s his final anchor to this existential plane.  Tracing Lance’s signal from when the other called him is easy, and it takes him next to nothing to press in the command that will send a transmission request. His heart is beating in a fast tempo, its cadence almost deafening, and with every second that goes by he feels disillusion seeping deeper into his very bones.  Was it really going to end like this—

 “ _ What _ ,” is the first thing Shiro hears once the transmission goes through, Lance’s face nowhere to be seen in the small screen, instead the view is of broken crates amongst very few intact ones.  There’s an eerie background silence coming from the other end, only interrupted by the bark in Lance’s voice, “ _ told you to call  _ only _ if that idiot— _ ”

 Oh.  So Lance accepted the call without knowing it was Shiro… “I, uh,” he clears his throat once, feeling just a tad lost, “I certainly hope I’m not that idiot.”

 “Shit,” Lance hisses, suddenly appearing from one of the sides of the screen, eyes wide and generally looking greasy and pale, “shit, Shiro, it’s you.”

 “I can call you later?” he asks, wincing when the sound of something heavy falling on the floor and shattering in hundreds of pieces takes over the speakers, “It’s clearly a bad time…”

 “What makes you think that,” offering a sharp grin, Lance disappears from view to shout at someone off-camera in a code Shiro’s translator can’t decipher, but he’s back on focus only a moment after.  “It’s no biggie,” he wipes his forehead with the back of his still bandaged hand, the fabric reaching almost his elbow, looking dirty and torn in places, “only two broken thrusters and an exploded gravity controller.”

 “That—”

 But Lance isn’t really paying attention to him.  “Damn it, Rax, that doesn’t go there!” he rushes off-camera again and this time the echo of something metallic being hit resonates through the transmission.  “Listen, Shiro—,” Lance shouts from afar, voice slightly strained, “can’t really,  _ mierda _ , Rax, careful with those cables! Shiro, let’s talk later, alright? I’m still—in this  _ asqueroso, sonuvabitch, quiznaking _ —”

 “Captain,” a voice Shiro doesn’t recognize sighs, “language, please…”

 “— _ godforsaken  _ planet! Wasn’t able to take off because of—”

 “ _ Captain! They are here— _ ”

 “Oh,  _ they’ll see _ !” Lance briefly reappears back on camera, but he’s not looking at Shiro, glaring instead somewhere to the right, “Gotta go, big guy.  See you around later!”

 Shiro’s heart lurches.  Something’s, something’s wrong, and he doesn’t know why he’s suddenly remembering the alien from last night… Lukyan, was it? “Wait!” he yells, but it’s too late, the transmission ended already.

 Well, that… that certainly wasn’t something he expected when he jumped to make the call.  But at least now he can somewhat rest assured that his chances with Lance aren’t entirely lost.  Lance said he’s staying, didn’t he? True, the reasons of that stay might not be the  _ ideal _ reasons, but it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?

 He won’t be stuck with this feeling of pure  _ longing _ forever.  Even if things don’t work out, this is better than being left with tons of what if’s, if only’s, all clawing up his throat and piercing the main artery to leave him dying in an ocean of uncertainty.

 Shiro’s spent enough years agonizing like that.  Surely, surely it’s time for him to move on and be honest to himself for once.  What may be, he’s willing to take it.

 Leaving the communicator back on the desk, he glances at the time displayed in bright numbers above the scanner next to the entrance to the room.  He has enough minutes to tidy himself up and don his uniform once more before going back to the commands room. Without doubt, central will have replied to them by then and that will signalize the official go ahead to fully carry on with his tasks in a diplomatic manner.

 He can’t quite shake off the transmission with Lance from his thoughts, though, and he can’t chase away the worry clinging tightly to his ribs.  Shiro has his duties, still, and he can’t ignore those either, so in the end he tries to shut off that part of his mind momentarily to focus and do what needs to be done.

 Which means Shiro spends most of the day going through reports, visiting the installations that are halfway in the construction process, then attending meetings with the local Council, getting treaties done and signed to be applied immediately.  It feels like forever’s come and gone by the time he’s back on his ship, and even then he still has obligations to fulfill. By nightfall, his brain is filled with white-noise, and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to postpone talking to Lance again any longer.

 Sure, from what the other told him during their transmission, and from what he managed to see through the screen, Lance is sure to be stuck in the planet for at least an entire Earth-month, and even if he somehow manages to get everything fixed before that, he’ll be stuck anyway because the whole planet will be on lockdown.  Space storm season, Lance had called it that way, and it surely was an accurate name. Everything is already in preparations for the beginning of it, expected to happen in exactly two days, and estimated to last up to three months (calculating with the Earth system).

 And maybe it took him too long to realize, with all the things he’s been occupied all day, that the thrusters breaking, the gravity controller exploding, those hadn’t been accidental things.  Someone really wanted Lance to stay, for whatever reasons, and they were determined enough to cause such havok. Stars if the realization isn’t a troubling one. Besides, it brings forth a question that’s been dancing in the background of Shiro’s contemplations: what kind of connections does Lance have and who did he piss off?

 

 “Officially,” Keith had said, voice awkwardly distant for a moment, “or what shows up in official papers, at least,”  Shiro knew better than to ask, “he’s a condecorated war veteran, discharged with high honors, who is now an independent supplier working with many organizations,  _ including _ the Garrison.”

 “That’s the official front,” Shiro had nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning.  “And unofficially?”

 “Well…,” Keith grunted, looking anything but comfortable, “he…  _ does _ help the BoM from time to time, but never actually in a direct way.  It’s always someone else he sends in his place.”

 “Why would he do that?  I know the two of you had a big fight a couple of years ago but—”

 “ _ But _ ,” snapping for a moment, Keith then glared at the screen, saying nothing else.

 And that had been it.

 Which, truly, didn’t really answer much at the moment and doesn’t clarify much now, instead leaving open many windows and doors that scream  _ look into us, find what we are hiding. _

 

 Shiro stumbles into the kitchen set right in the center of his ship, and he only has his recursive mind to blame when he’s rudely snapped out of his thoughts by the one person he never imagined he’d see sitting there, on one of the counters.

 “I figured that if the mountain didn’t come to me,” Lance smiles teasingly, leaning backwards and supporting himself with both hands pressed behind him on the cool surface, “then I’d have to go to the mountain.”

 “Lance,” Shiro breathes out, shocked still right where he’s standing and feeling like an inadequate fool, “Stars, Lance, how did you get here?”

 “Through the door, how else?” he scoffs, though the smile stays in place.

 “I let him in, sir,” Nadia says from one of the chairs next to the table, a huge smirk on her face, “but not after James and Ryan striked the fear of god right into his heart.”

 Lance laughs loudly at that, jumping off the counter and landing gracefully on his feet.  “Please, that’s definitely not what went down!”

 “Oh I don’t know, Ryan even threatened to shoot you when you tried to sneak in...”

 “Not the first time that’s happened—”

 “Wait,” Shiro sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose then, the conversation already too much for him to keep up, “that’s enough.  Thank you, Nadia. I’ll take it from here.”

 “Sure thing, sir,” she shrugs and stands up, picking up something that looked like a cross between a pineapple and an apple, “do let us know if you need him kicked out.”

 Ignoring Lance’s mock offended  _ ‘hey!’ _ , Shiro chuckles, stepping away from the door and closer to the current source of his worries.  “I will, if the need ever arises.”

 “Which  _ it won’t _ !” Lance exclaims as Nadia leaves, and then grins brightly, fixing his fully unbuttoned jacket before resting his hands on his hips.  “Well, look who’s here. I was beginning to worry you were scared away by what you saw earlier today.”

 “Not scared away,” Shiro moves closer still, only stopping when they are a few centimeters apart, “just incredibly busy.”

 “Ah, yeah.  Your  _ General _ duty stuff and all that.  Heard the installations are going well, which, granted, I knew they would, considering the materials were brought by  _ me _ .”

 Shiro places a hand on the counter, body angled towards Lance’s.  He licks his lips as he smiles, lowering his head just slightly — they might be all grown now, but he’s still a few inches taller than the other and that makes something inside him flutter.

 “Yes, I recognized your name in the contributors declaration list,” he admits, and Lance whistles.

 “Oof, official talk, way to get my jets going.”

 “Lance—,” he bites back the laughter threatening to spill out at that comment, eyes crinkling at the corners, “stars, Lance.  I was worried.”

 “I’m alright,” he says, one hand reaching out to land on Shiro’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, “a bit upset at the forced stay, but, well.  It’s hard to remain in a sour mood when I know that at least I’ll spend part of the next months with you.”

 “About that—”

 “I want to kiss you,” Lance interrupts him then, and it’s almost like the universe stops, too, with such an abrupt declaration, “can we talk about it later?”

 Shiro shouldn’t say yes.  He shouldn’t accept. He should insist they talk now, they clarify everything now, from Lance’s always quick departures to whatever happened once they parted ways, including who might be behind the wreckage.

 Shiro shouldn’t say yes for so many reasons.  Lance’s been coming in and out of his life in erratic patterns, always staying away for longer extensions of time than the actual occasions he ends up sticking around for a bit.  Shiro’s a General now, and he has so many duties to fulfill, too many pedestals he can’t fall off of.

 Shiro really shouldn't say yes, above all, because he isn’t sure he’ll survive the heartbreak.

 Yet that’s exactly why he surrounds Lance’s waist with his prosthetic to pull him closer, and that’s why he whispers against Lance’s lips a fervent  _ yes _ .

 

—

 

 Shiro hates it when time plays tricks with him.  It feels like yesterday he was chasing unreachable stars, and now he has entire nebulas and galaxies all to himself.  Everything passes by so fast, between him doing everything he’s been assigned to do, maintaining the state of the ship through the months it’ll spend not flying, and being with Lance… gods, being with Lance is the one miracle, the one blessing, he never expected would be granted to him.

 It was only a matter of a bit of pushing on his side during their shared dinners to convince Lance to contact Coran, Hunk and Katie, though there’s still strong refusal when it comes to talking to Keith and Allura.  Shiro cannot make heads or tails about it, because as far as he knows, his break up with Allura had been on friendly terms, a decision taken  _ and _ accepted by both parts.

 

 “It was,” Lance had gained a wistful look to his eyes when he began telling his reminiscences about his time with Allura, and there was a soft smile on his lips.  Shiro didn’t feel jealousy, because, well, he  _ gets _ it.  “It was the best thing that could happen to me, at the time.  Being with her, I mean. And I think I was good for her, too…”

 He then had exhaled the curiously tinted smoke of the alien cigarette held loosely between his index and middle fingers, and Shiro for a moment imagined the smoke to be a twisted halo around Lance’s head.

 “You were,” he rushed to say, “you definitely were.”

 “I still love Allura, you know,” Lance admitted, leaning further into his chair, “I think I always will.  But, but it’s different now. Not necessarily romantic. I just. I care a lot about her.”

 “Why don’t you call her, then?” he frowned, flesh thumb pressing against the wrist of his prosthetic, “She’s going to be so happy—”

 “I’d do anything for her,” Lance scowled, putting out the cigarette on the small crystal bowl next to him, filled with ashes, “and if she’d ask me to go where she is and stay there, I would. Without thinking twice about it. Even though I can’t…,” swallowing, he lowered his head, pressing his chin to his sternum, “ _ I can’t stay still _ .  I can’t be idle.”

_  Why _ , Shiro had itched to ask.   _ Why can’t you? _

 But if there’s one thing he’s learnt, is that not all questions have answers.  And sometimes, the ones that do, they have answers that are better left unsaid...

 

 And now they are kissing.  Kissing like their lives depend on it, like their understanding of this reality relies on them eating each other’s faces and never breaking apart, not even to breathe.  Shiro’s still haunted by so many things Lance has said during their dinners. Shiro’s still haunted by his own doubts and insecurities.

 He presses Lance against the wall right next to the door to Lance’s bedroom.  Lance grunts, biting down on Shiro’s lower lip and then sucking on it to take off the edge of pain.  Shiro’s thigh is pressed right between Lance’s legs, and every point of contact is heaven, every place they touch is hell.

 “Come on,” Lance hisses and rolls his hips, pressing the heat of his hard cock, still trapped inside his pants, firmly against the thickness of Shiro’s thigh, “come on,  _ mierda _ , if you don’t fuck me I’ll fuck you—”

 Shiro can’t quite swallow back his groan, and he doesn’t think twice when he lowers his hands to squeeze Lance’s ass, pressing their bodies even closer.  His blood is still warm from the alcohol they drank during dinner, but he’s not inebriated enough to stop his mind from forming a thorough list of reasons in regards why  _ this _ is such a bad idea.

 “Wouldn’t you like that,” he all but purrs, leaving searing kisses all over the expanse of Lance’s jawline and down the side of his tantalizing neck, “wouldn’t you love to have me on my back, legs spread, cock deep inside me…”

 “On your back, on all fours, bent in half,” gasping when Shiro bites down on the creamy skin of his collarbone, Lance whines, hands like claws tugging on Shiro’s jacket with enough force to rip some of the seams, “my mouth around your cock, my tongue up your ass, gods,  _ Shiro! _ ”

 An awkward cough is as effective as a bucket of neptunian ice falling down on them.  They don’t exactly move away from each other, but Lance does definitely yell.

 “What!”

 “Uh,” Shiro looks at the opposite end of the hallway where the voice is coming from, not that far gone in his below the belt needs to not be surprised at the sight of a balmeran there, “Eldin is here.”

 “What the quiznak,” Lance’s entire body is trembling, and Shiro’s confused, so confused, “ _ That maldito _ .  Tell him I’ll be there in a—in a heck of a moment, fuck!”

 “Your cursing,” Shiro mumbles then, mind reeling, “is a mess.”

 “So are my balls right now,” he mutters darkly while slipping away from Shiro’s grasp.  The distance is painfully uncomfortable, and he shoves his own hand inside his pants to try and conceal his bulge as much as possible.  “You can wait for me in the bedroom, if you want,” Lance says then, rolling his shoulders, “though I don’t know how long this meeting will last.”

 He nods, and that’s all Lance takes as an answer before he’s stomping away, closely followed by the balmeran.

 Shiro runs a shaking hand through his hair, pushing his forelock out of his forehead as he swallows back his curses.  Taking a moment to compose himself and rearrange his clothes, he decides against staying and promptly marches out of that ship, but not without feeling like something frail is about to explode all over his face, leaving him blinded.

 One month and a half, that’s how long they’ve been dancing along to the song of their dates and them rekindling their bond, that had been covered in dust and cobwebs.  One month and a half and Shiro now knows that Lance burns brighter than many suns and stars, Lance is always burning like the supernova he is, blue and magical and incandescent.  But like every fire, there’s always the risk of losing grasp of it, of getting burnt, of it going off in ugly malicious flames. But like every fire, Lance sizzles and fizzles, sparks jumping to each and every direction, and he’s always moving, always dancing, because it’s true what he admitted, it’s true that he can’t be idle.  He can’t stay still.

 There’s a frantic, manic, nature to the motions, a desperation that Shiro can’t let go of, can’t push aside and forget.  It’s a  _ must _ for Lance to stay on the move, and with each day that passes by unable to leave the planet, unable to jump on his now repaired ship and fly away, Lance’s edges grow sharper, and his smile slices through anything with more lethality than the best made knife.  It makes Shiro think of someone who’s  _ on the run _ , constantly escaping, constantly hiding again and again because it’s impossible to shake off the feeling of being  _ chased _ … but why what, is the question Shiro wants to ask Lance: what is chasing you?  What are you running away from?

 He gets to his room and rests his back against the door once it closes.  It surely is silly of him, of someone his rank and age, to be so obsessed, so focused on another person because he just… he just  _ loves _ so deeply.  It surely is silly that he’s loving with the same intensity his younger self loved his long lost fiance, it’s stupid because after that he hadn’t been able to cherish anyone the way he cherished Adam, the way he’s cherishing Lance now.  It’s utterly, completely, maddeningly idiotic, because while Adam let himself be loved and cherished while giving back in kind, Lance doesn’t let him, doesn’t accept, only  _ gives, gives, gives, gives,  _ hardly ever takes, hardly ever demands.

 Perhaps it’s because Lance knows he’ll be leaving.  Perhaps it’s because Lance hasn’t been convinced that they  _ can  _ be, that they  _ don’t _ have to give up, that they can be eternal.  Perhaps it’s because Lance knows that they are both scared of the outcome, and despite all the years and all the life changing events, Lance is undeniably kind and he’ll never do anything that has the potential to bring Shiro harm.

 It makes Shiro want to cry, but he doesn’t give into that want.  Instead, he takes his communicator out of his pocket and calls Keith again.  His logical mind is kicking in, and he knows that the other will want to know about this Eldin guy, plus Keith surely has a bit of information, no matter how trivial or minimal, about this guy.

 His grip on the device is almost painful.  If he applies just a little more strength, he’s surely to crack it in half.

 “Shiro,” Keith sounds surprised, but one look at his expression has him frowning, mouth forming a tight line, “what’s wrong?”

 “Lance,” he says, holding himself together by the seams, “I think he’s in trouble with an alien named Eldin.  I’d interfere myself, but—”

 “But if you do it can be detrimental to your presence and, therefore, the Garrison’s presence in that planet,” Keith knows him and his thoughts all too well.  He’s looking somewhere off camera, probably a datapad, and then his frown deepens. “Well. Shit.”

 “What?”   _ Don’t let it be bad _ , Shiro prays,  _ stars, please, don’t let it be bad _ … _ let this have a solution. _

 “Eldin, I have intel on a smuggler named like that, one with an ops base in the planet you’re now… This is,” he sighs, gaze going back and forth from the camera to the pad, “if Lance is involved in any way with this guy… if you intervene, it can end up in something truly bad.”

 “I think,” Shiro licks his lips then, swallowing what feels like lead in his throat, “I think this guy might be behind Lance’s ship being wrecked.  His ship’s thrusters and the gravity controller were destroyed the same night he was planning on leaving, and he never told me anything else about that matter…”

 “You didn’t tell me that,” Keith’s now staring at him, almost glaring.

 He winces.  “I know, I’m sorry.  I thought Lance would talk to me about it eventually…”

 At that, Keith cracks a smile, which is something Shiro truly hadn’t been expecting.  Neither was he prepared for the clear fondness behind the expression.

 “If one thing stayed the same, is that he has a tendency to keep to himself problems he thinks he can solve on his own.”

 “I guess you’re right,” relaxing only a little, he walks towards the chair to sit on it, setting the communicator then on the desk, “I want to help him…”

 “Maybe you’ll have better luck than me,” Keith hums, eyes dejected, “I tried and look where that got the two of us.”

 “Is that…”

 “Why we fought?” he crosses his arms over his chest, but it looks more like he’s actively restraining himself, “Yes and no.  It certainly was one of the reasons we had that fight.”

 “Keith—”

 “It’s not my place to tell.  I’ll send you what I have on Eldin,” Shiro could push it, but he doesn’t, “just make sure that whatever you do, it won’t come back to bite you and the Garrison’s position there in the ass.”

 True to word, one minute after the communication ended, Shiro received on his datapad a file with information.  It didn’t have much, but it would have to be enough. Making his request to have the guy looked at seem like it comes from a position of worry about the negative influence Eldin’s operations can have on the Garrison’s goals, well, that’s also definitely easy.

 It’s the least he can do to appease in some way his own conscience.

 Looking at the clock, how late it is sinks snugly into his limbs and bones.  All the adrenaline from before has left him, and now Shiro’s tired to such a degree that if he doesn’t rest, he knows he won’t be of much help to anyone, least of all Lance.  So he stands up and meticulously takes off his uniform, folding it, leaving a neat pile on the chair before sliding underneath the covers of his bed and drifting off into a fitful, nightmare-plagued sleep.

 

 

 For the first time ever, he dreams of Lance.

 He dreams of Lance when they were younger, wild and innocent and just taking head on their start of a war that will leave their souls forever signed.

 He dreams of Lance kissing him, cradling his face in his hands, he dreams of a ring just like the ring he gave Adam, he dreams of weddings, he dreams of peace and tranquility.

 But then Lance is not Lance but Adam, and then Adam is screaming, then he is silent standing over a barren hill, blood all over his face.  But Adam has Lance’s eyes and then the person he’s watching is neither of them, is nobody, is now a body falling down the precipice and being sliced into many pieces by the sharp rocks below.

 And he’s thrown into one scenario to then witness the next, and it never ends, it never ends, and he opens his mouth to scream but no sound comes out, his throat is raw and open and he’s bleeding out, but he can’t scream, he can’t scream or move, he can’t reach out and hold—hold—

 “Shiro,” dream-Lance whispers and his voice is like a prayer, dream-Lance is straddling his hips and he can tell he’s naked, they are both naked, dream-Lance is riding him with his head thrown back as an endless chain of moans fall from his thin lips.

 Dream-Lance is riding his cock and it’s the most beautiful thing ever, even if their skins change in appearance, even if Lance now has wrinkles and he can tell his own body isn’t as defined anymore, and then light surrounds them, envelops them and—

 Lance is in his arms, bleeding.  A single shot through the heart. There’s no salvation.

 Shiro cries.

 “Idle,” Lance laughs, blood cascading down his chin, “can’t be idle.  Help me move.”

 “Lance, don’t—”

 “If I don’t move…”

 He presses his hands down on the wound and the red ambrosia crawls up his arms, tearing at his skin.

 “If I don’t run…”

 “Don’t—!”

 Don’t! Don’t! Don’t! Don’t—

 

 

 He opens his eyes and he can tell he’s drenched in sweat by the way the covers are sticking to him.  Struggling to catch his breath, he tries to remember: what was the last thing dream-Lance said? What was that last thing, after the ‘ _ if I don’t run’ _ ?  What was it, what…

 There’s an insistent knocking on his door.

 “General,” James’ voice is laden with worry, “General, is everything alright?  We heard screaming.”

 Shame is hot and piercing inside his gut.  Shiro wants to reset these last hours and do them all over again.

 “I’m alright,” he speaks through the hoarseness in his throat, “It was just a nightmare.”

 James is still on the other side of the door.  Shiro just wants him to go away.

 “Alright, sir,” the younger man settles on, “let us know if you need anything.”

 

—

 

 Roughly a week later is when Lance reaches out again.  He’s bruised and has a split lip, plus Shiro’s sure the bandages on his arms and hands are new.  But no matter how much he asks, Lance doesn’t tell him anything.

 “I’ve dealt with it,” is the only reply he gets, and after the fourth evasive comment Shiro drops it.  He has no energy to fight with Lance over this, and he wants to avoid pushing him away.

 Lance knows what he’s doing, Shiro tells himself, ignoring the dread pooling in his guts; he’ll just have to look into it behind the other’s back.  This is surely not the right way to have a relationship, if they even have one of those.

 They go to a new place to spend their free night time, one further away from the docks and with a much smaller salon, no live band playing to entertain the patrons.  Yet when Lance rests his hand on Shiro’s thigh, Shiro can barely remember how to breathe, let alone pay attention to his surroundings. And next Lance is kissing him again, kissing him like this is the last time, kissing him like this is their first time and he’s afraid of the moment being over.

 And so Shiro cradles Lance’s face and keeps kissing him, and they are chasing each other’s tongues, they are biting and sucking until their lips are swollen and shiny with spit.  They don’t stop kissing even as they make their way to Shiro’s ship, they can’t stay away, they can’t keep their hands off each other — they do try once they reach the main entrance and Ryan’s keeping guard there, Shiro stupidly feels like a teenager in love even though he’s far from his teen years; Lance laughs, and pats Ryan’s shoulder, “That’s an awesome gun,” he says, grinning like a madman, “maybe one of these days we should find a range and have a shooting competition,” he says and then they are inside the ship and they don’t really encounter anyone else.

 Shiro feels drunk when their lips meet yet again, they barely make it inside Shiro’s room before Lance is pushing him against the wall and ripping off his jacket.

 “No interruptions,” he swears, tugging on Shiro’s shirt to take it off as well, “or else I’ll murder someone—”

 “No murdering,” Shiro chides him, though he’s smiling because the sentiment is shared, “now come here, I haven’t kissed you in a hot minute.”

 “Sir, yes, sir,” Lance laughs and then their bodies are pressed together once more, and gods, the feeling will never grow old.

 Shiro’s eagerly kissing him, taking off Lance’s jacket and shirt, quickly opening and undoing his pants.  Lance chokes on a moan when Shiro cups his bulge in the palm of his hand, feeling and stroking over the fabric of the underwear, arousal spiking up at the weight and size of it.

 “Shiro,” Lance gasps out a whine, rolling his hips and pressing down against the other’s hand.

 “Your cock is going inside me,” Shiro promises, and the room feels all the more hotter.

 “ _ Fuck _ ,” gasping, he finishes opening Shiro’s pants, his hands skirting over the hard cock and instead pressing against Shiro’s firm ass, squeezing, feeling, wanting, “I need… I need to…”

 “I know,” he whispers as they tumble to the bed and fall over the covers, “I know,  _ I need it too. _ ”

 And Lance is on top of him now, a beautiful sight of hard muscles and broad shoulders to chase away the remains of his nightmare.  Lance is taking off the few items of clothing Shiro’s still wearing, “stars, you’re beautiful” he says, eyes worshipping every inch of skin, and Shiro’s reply dies in its making when Lance bends down and swallows all of his cock.

 “Gods!” he shouts, eyes open wide as one hand snaps to his mouth and the other flies to Lance’s incredibly soft hair.

 He can feel the pulsing constriction of the throat as Lance pushes through his gag reflex, can feel him swallowing, can feel the curl of the tongue pressed against the underside of his dick.  And just as Shiro looks down, Lance pulls out to then take him in all the way to base once more, and even if he’s trying to muffle his moans with his hand, Shiro’s sure he’s still being way too loud.

 It’s so hard to keep them in when it’s been so long since anyone’s done to him anything remotely close to this.  The fact that it’s Lance only makes his  _ want _ , his  _ need _ , sing uncontrolled through his veins, highlighted by the percussion of his heartbeat behind his ears, within his chest.  He can cum like this. He  _ will _ cum like this if Lance doesn’t—

 Deft fingers trace Shiro’s balls and cradle them, caressing them gently, before dipping lower.  A single digit runs over the wrinkled edges of his rim, and Shiro’s shuddering, legs spreading wide open, cock surely dripping a storm down Lance’s lean throat.  There are bright spots going off like fireworks in the corners of his eyes, he’s close, he can feel it, he knows he’s about to…

 The digit barely presses inside him just when Lance swallows him down till his nose is smudged against his pelvis, and his warning ends up becoming a barely contained shout as Shiro cums down Lance’s throat.  He stops breathing for a moment and all he hears during a second is white noise. Lance is milking him dry, drinking up every drop his cock can provide, licking him clean once he's spent.

 Shiro can barely think, if a constant stream of  _ ‘oh gods, oh gods, oh gods’ _ counts as rational, logical thinking.  It's an instinctual knowledge the one that convinces him that he's spent, stars, he's spent and his refractory time isn't what it used to be, and Lance still hasn't cum yet.

 Squeezing his eyes shut and letting his hands fall at his sides on the bed, Shiro’s suddenly assaulted by a sense of shame.  He should be able to give more than this…

 “I think I'm drunk on your taste,” Lance's voice is deliciously hoarse, and he chuckles, letting his fingers dance over Shiro’s strong thighs.  “I could blow you for hours.”

 “Old,” Shiro chokes out, suppressing a whine, “I wouldn't be able to…”

 “Shut up, you're not  _ that _ old,” huffing, Lance stands up to take off the rest of his own clothes.  “Are you still game for—”

 “ _ Yes _ ,” he breathes and shivers, opening his eyes to look at the other without any metaphorical barrier in the way, “you better fuck me, even if I can't get it up right now.”

 “We’ll see about that,” Lance grins and walks to the desk, not awkward at all despite the huge boner he's sporting, “now tell me you keep the lube somewhere around here…”

 “Second drawer, hidden beneath the stacks of papers.”

 “Got it. Also, fair warning, I might finish shortly after entering you, you're like, unfairly hot and maybe also the man of my dreams.”

 “It's ok,” Shiro laughs, and he can tell he's blushing, “I’ll let you cum inside to make things even.”

 “Christ,” Lance almost drops the bottle of lube at that, eyes open wide, “you know how to get me.  You know the way to my heart.”

 “One creampie at a time?”

 “ _ Duh _ .”

 When he climbs back on the bed, Shiro hums, keeping his legs parted for Lance to smoothly settle between them.  They start kissing again, never deterred by the fact that Lance’s mouth tastes like his own release, and everything’s perfect.

 Next it’s Lance’s fingers that are stretching him, aided by the copious amount of lube, and Shiro ends up resorting to biting down on his own tongue so he can clutch onto the covers underneath him with both hands.  When he involuntarily tenses, Lance chases it away with soft and tender kisses, idly pumping his fingers in and out during those moments, waiting for Shiro to get used to all the sensations he forgot how to feel.

 It’s almost overwhelming and definitely too intimate.  Shiro can’t think more of it because those fingers just left him and now Lance is pushing the tip of his cock past Shiro’s puckered ring of muscle, pushing ever so slowly, and it’s like heaven and hell all at the same time.  Lance is inside him now, stretching him in all the ways the fingers couldn’t, and it’s so right he could almost cry. Maybe he does, because next thing he knows Lance is laying on top of him, hips pressed together, still balls deep, and he’s kissing him until Shiro forgets what’s right about this and all the things that are wrong about this, Shiro forgets that Lance has never said  _ I love you _ and says it himself instead.

 But maybe it’s ok because Lance isn’t going, he isn’t going away, instead he’s holding him and worshipping him, and then those hips start moving in a delirious rhythm until Shiro’s far too gone to really register what Lance says:

 “You make me want to stay, Shiro.  You make me want to stop running away. But I don’t  _ know _ how to stop…  _ I don’t know... _ ”

 

— 

 

 The three months of lockdown are over.

 It's like an eternity has passed.

 

 Shiro stands in the docks right next to Lance’s ship.  He's not wearing his uniform, opting instead for his civilian clothes for this occasion.  It felt like the right thing to do.

 Lance’s jacket is buttoned all the way up and his boots are clean.  Shiro will always remember this image.

 “Well,” Lance shifts his weight from one foot to the other, lingering, “I have to get going.”

 “I know,” he smiles, hands crossed behind his back.

 “I, uh.  I’ll try to call.”

 Shiro nods, staying firm where he is.  “I’ll hold you up to it.”

 The last crate is loaded onto the ship and the remaining crew members that were loitering outside begin to board.  Lance is still staring at Shiro.

 “Tell Keith that he’s an asshole,” he says, failing to keep his smile in place, “but that he’s forgiven.”

 The balmeran is staring at them from the viewport.  They both ignore him.

 “Make sure to visit more often, Lance.”

 “I,” and now he’s barely holding himself together,  “I will. I’m—,” licking his lips once, twice, he finally breaks the distance separating them and pulls Shiro into a desperate kiss.  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

 “Lance,” Shiro shudders, feeling his heart seizing.  So much for trying to keep up a front. “It’s alright.  I understand. Just… promise you’ll come back. You’ll come back to me.”

 “I will,” Lance swears against his lips, still not letting go, “ _ I sure as hell will _ .”

 

°

 

**Author's Note:**

> [title comes from an Oasis' song](https://youtu.be/jySfU10IQu4)


End file.
